


Psychic is weak to Dark

by neo_the_neon_light



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex Work, its alright he's cool with it, piers is a prostitute, uhhh ok uh so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25280767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neo_the_neon_light/pseuds/neo_the_neon_light
Summary: Avery arrives in Spikemuth for the League's major circuit. He's never been in such a worn down place before, and he suspects the mayor of the town has some secrets.But giratina damn him if he wasn't hot.
Relationships: Nezu | Piers/Savory | Avery, Nezu | Piers/Total Stranger
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes it's 4 am my time, no i did not write this in one sitting i just. felt like writing this. more to be added i think.

He dropped his bags at Spikemuth’s entrance.

This is where he was going to stay? This lowly, cement cracked, whore-house looking place?  
Peeking into the town’s strip, he finds the residents- all punk and thuggish looking, pink dyed hair slicked back and spiked.

No one seems to have noticed yet, the citizens are leaning against worn down building walls and chatting amongst themselves. There are a few people scattered about, replacing light bulbs on shaky, broken step ladders, as their electric type pokemon assist them.

This was Spikemuth.

Avery sighs. He was here to train for the major circuit, but the Gym Challenge League seemed to have a sense of humor.  
Sending the Psychic-type trainer to the Dark-type town, The Bug-type trainer to the Ice-type town-- And the new Fighting-type leader to the Ghost-type town.  
What kind of farce were they running?  
What training was to be done when your opponent had the advantage? Avery doesn’t understand.

He picks up his duffle bag again, dragging his rolling suitcase behind him. He’d already let his family know he’d arrived, when he got to Hammerlock.  
What does he do from here? There’s no way he’s stepping in here. It’s so… unclean.  
He idles at the entrance some more, before a younger looking girl steps out from the front most building and spots him. She strides up to him confidently and holds out her hand. Her short hair is pulled into grumpig-tails that curl at the end, and her blue eyes pierce into him as she smiles.

“Aye, ye’re the new circut member, aren’t ye?”  
“O-Oh, well, yes- I am, is this… Spikemuth?” He asks, the question coming out despite the answer being so glaringly obvious.

“‘f’course, dumbray.”  
The teenager cusses. Lovely.  
“This is mine and my brother’s lovely home- I’m sure ye can’t be arsed t’step in, since ye’ve been standin’ at this entrance for th’past five minutes, so I’ll go interrupt his concert and get him.”

She turns and begins to walk off, and Avery finally crosses into Spikemuth to chase after her, the faint sound of blaring guitars and crashing drums can be heard more prominently. Some of the locals eye him as he enters. He fidgets with his hair, tugging on the bang that drapes past his ear, adjusting his glasses soon after.

This town was a wreck. The floors were a broken mix of linoleum and concrete, interspersed unevenly throughout the ground. The neon lights flicker in and out, dying slowly.  
It’s unnerving. The cracks and holes in the ceiling canopy do nothing to soothe his anxieties as he follows the young girl straight ahead, to the very end of the town. The music vibrates the floor and shakes his body and luggage as he nears the source.

When they reach the end of town, the girl marches straight through the crowd of locals, and up to the stage, to the man singing. She shouts something at him over the music, and it all comes to a crashing halt. Avery, blended in with the anonymity of the crowd, takes a moment to observe the man.

There’s sweat dripping down his face, no doubt from extraneous singing- it had been a heavy metal song playing. The musician isn’t paying attention to the crowd for a moment, only his sister- before his attention snaps back and he leans into the microphone, breathing heavy between each word.

“Alright, y’lot. Concert’s over- head on home.”  
The crowd lets out a collective groan as the man’s ice-type blue eyes take a stab at Avery. He withdraws his pokemon and lowers the microphone, shouting his next words.  
“Ye heard me! No more chelpin. Head off.”

The disappointed crowd files around Avery as they exit the small arena. The blonde throws his hands up and stammers, as his tug-along suitcase falls to the ground with a crash.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry, was I interrupting something? I’ll go if it’ll be a burden for me to stay here, there’s no need to extend your hospitality if you’re all busy with your daily activities,” He rambles, while the two sibling stare at him with raised eyebrows.

“Oi mate, ye’ll talk the entirety of th’dictionary outta yer mouth if ye talk for any longer,” the man traipes down the stairs of the stage, heading up to Avery. He sets a hand on his hip and shifts his weight as he stares down at the other.

“Yer the psychic trainer? Avery, right?” He holds out one of his hands, the other going to undo his high ponyta-tail. The black and white pattern of his hair momentarily stuns Avery.  
It looked... nice. He looked nice. 

“Oi! Galar to Avery, if that’s yer name! Ye didn’t answer!”

Huh? Oh. He’s brought back to the rockstar waving a hand in front of his face.

“T-Terribly sorry,” He stammers. “Yes, I’m Avery, but as I was saying--”

Well, hold on. Now staying here didn’t seem like such a bad idea. 

“Yeah- Ta, Marn, go ahead and head back home-” The man waves his younger sister off, who sighs loudly and strides out of the arena/concert pit.  
He proceeds to grab Avery’s suitcase and prop it up, his thin frame sitting on the available space, and his arms leaning on the handle.  
“So, we don’t have too much space ‘ere. Dunno why the bloody League decides that sendin’ someone t’us when we don’t have th’resources is an excellent idea.”  
The man is huffy as he stands up, off of the luggage.

“So, really, yer only choices are stayin’ in mine and Marnie’s house- ye’d have t’stay on the couch, or ye could stay at the pokecenter-- they don’t have any rooms, we’re too small of a town t’offer an inn with th’center, so ye’d have to camp out in one of the backrooms.”

The unspoken third option was to leave and leave Galar with seven Gym Leaders instead of eight, for this next season.

Avery gazes at the graffitied walls as his mind runs over his choices.

Pokecenters were normally well accommodating, he’s certain that Nurse Joy would take good care of him- but they were 24/7 stores as well. And who knows what type of thuggish deviance these townsfolk were capable of!

Staying with this man and his sister however, posed a different issue. Sleeping on the couch potentially meant that their rooms were limited. He’d get minimal privacy. He had his dignity to uphold! How could he do that if he had to sleep on a couch?

But he looks at the monochromatic haired man.  
It might not be too bad....

“Oh, are you certain I wouldn’t be taking up space?”

“Not at all! Only thing ye’d have t’be worried about is my lil sis blarin music till late in th’night.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be no trouble at all!” Avery smiles, and holds out his hand proper. The man takes it and shakes it.

“Piers, by the by.”

“It’s nice to be working with you!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little spice bit! oops.

Avery shifts on the couch, his eyes unable to shut. This was the actual worst choice he could’ve made. The pleather couch sticks to his skin, causing a sickening rrrriiiip sound whenever he moved.   
The younger sister blasted loud music until at least midnight, and Piers was nowhere to be found.

That is, until the front door unlocks. Avery quickly feigns sleeping as the musician stumbles in with someone.  
“Out of towner, ain’t ye…?”

“Yeah, yeah,” The stranger replies, quite curt. “Are there other people here?”

“Don’t ye worry none, alright? Th’room upstairs is soundproof and I’ll take good care ‘f ye there…” Piers murmurs convincingly, as Avery hears two sets of footsteps walk up the concrete stairs.

Oh he just has to know what’s going on here. Why did they come in together?  
As quietly as he can, because he's laying on pleather, he sneaks up the stairs a few moments after them.

When he arrives, he peeks through the upstairs door--a small amount of sound is leaking out, but the room seems to be flawlessly soundproof otherwise.

It looks like a recording studio, and yet there was the stranger, the suit he was wearing disheveled and half undone as he sits on a chair. Piers is straddled onto one of his legs, and the two’s lips are crashing together, as they lean into each other’s embrace.

A part of Avery is appalled. Why is he watching this? He shouldn’t be. This was private.

But another part of Avery really can’t tear his eyes away.

The stranger’s hands trace and trail up and down Piers’ sides, and Avery can see the rockstar shudder and give a grin whenever they pull away from their kiss.

“Handsy little bugger, ain’t ye?” He growls playfully, his own hands placed on the man’s chest as he undoes his shirt buttons before leaning back down for another messy kiss.

Arceus above. Avery’s face is red, and he’s faintly aware of the feeling of himself growing hotter.

“What’s yer name, then?” Piers asks of the man, as he leans in and kisses his neck, slowly trailing down.  
“A-Audrey,” He mumbles out, barely loud enough to Avery to catch.

Similar to his own name, in a sense…

“Oh Audrey, baby, just a stunnin’ name,”Piers cooes, one of his hands snaking up to hold his face, the other reaching down to unzip his pants.

Too close to his own name. That voice is going to haunt his waking life. This has to be a dream-- surely he can pinch himself and-  
“Ow!”   
Avery hisses, realizing a moment too late that his voice was audible. Both voices inside the room stop, and he immediately zips back downstairs, launching himself over the back of the couch and landing with a soft, barely audible “thump” on the couch. He covers himself with a blanket and haphazardly folds his glasses onto the table next to the couch.

He hears the door shut, and lock.  
Oh Dialga Palkia, this was torture. The couch is still too unbearable to sleep on, and now he was turned on. It must’ve been, what--  
He squints at his phone. 3 am.   
3 am, and training matches started at 6.

What the distortion world was he going to do?


End file.
